Once Upon a Time and Relative Dimension in Space
by PippinStrange
Summary: I hate good wizards in fairy tales. They always turn out to be him – River. Classic fairy tales retold starring The Doctor and his companions.


"_I hate good wizards in fairy tales. They always turn out to be him." –River_

_Classic fairy tales retold starring The Doctor and his companions._

* * *

…

_Once Upon a Time and Relative Dimension in Space_

_By Pippin Strange_

_(And sometimes, the Brothers Grimm)_

…

* * *

**A Tale of Pumpkins and Glass**

* * *

"You'll love the manor," the Doctor shouted. He had gone beyond his usual blabbering and was now _gushing_ with unparalleled enthusiasm_. _"They've got one tower on the northeast corner, a hundred horses, a fountain in the front—by the by, the statue of the French hero only _looks _like my second regeneration by pure coincidence—and the Lord Tremaine threw the _best _parties. He was reveler!"

"A Gatsby of medieval France," Clara inferred, smiling.

"There was nothing in the world like his festivals. He invited all kinds of people to them—the rich, the poor, gypsies, circuses, performers, royalty… and then there was the food! Ah! When you try it, _do try _to avoid the ones that still move. Right."

The blue doors of the Tardis were opened onto a green lawn, swampy and unkept. It was late evening and raining profusely, with only one small light shining through a window in the manor house made of dark gray stone. The whole place was fallen into both disrepair and despair.

They walked up three wide steps, out of the sunken garden and onto the flagstone plaza. The fountain in the center of it did not work, the statue was mossy, and the pond was full of stagnant water. Frogs chirped from inside the murkiness.

"Is it the right one?" Clara asked with reasonable doubt. "The place hasn't seen much life lately. Looks a little like the Caliburn gardens—of course, without the knobby ghost-alien."

"It's only been ten years," the Doctor said, his face wildly both confused and grieved. "Ten years ago, I was here for the wedding. Lord Tremaine had just married up the Lady Constance—both of them brought daughters to the marriage, you know—an unhappy widow and widower finding happiness together with their children. Something must have gone terribly wrong!"

"Money runs out," Clara shrugged.

"Hm," the Doctor acknowledged this but did not want to agree. "I suppose a family death could have occurred. Ten years is a long while."

"Or the French Revolution," Clara suggested. "They are nobles, you said."

"Top marks! But, alas, we are too early for the revolution," the Doctor replied.

"D'ya hear that?" Clara hissed suddenly, reaching out and tapping the Doctor's arm. Somewhere around the right hand corner of the house, in the darkness, there was a desolate sobbing.

The Doctor perked up instantly. "Signs of life!" he said, eagerly.

"A sad one, though," Clara replied. "Perhaps we _do _have a knobby alien-ghost to find."

They began to pick up the pace, trotting across the plaza, past the fountain, and around the corner of the house. They descended a small flight of stone steps that hugged the side of the house, back into another section of the sunken garden.

And now they were in a world of sapphire light and emerald trees that seemed to grow right out of the _rococo_ era. There were thick trees with small circular flowerbeds around their trunks, statues sprinkled throughout, and benches everywhere for wanderers. A dark, thick hedge surrounded the entirety of the garden. Clara could have sworn she spied _The Swing_ itself, hanging from a tree branch, from which a flirtatious _mademoiselle _would kick off her shoe and be immortalized for it.

The crying was growing louder. They went around a mound where five rose bushes sported dying blooms, and found a figure collapsed on the ground.

It was a girl; eighteen years old being a generous estimate of her age. She was curled up in the dirt and grass, arms thrown over a bench with her face buried in them, crying as though her heart was broken beyond saving.

"Oh, hello," the Doctor exclaimed, acting as if he were caught by surprise.

The girl lifted her head and slowly looked towards her visitors, eyes bloodshot and chin trembling. "I—I—" she stuttered. "Who are you?"

"_Bonjour,_" Clara practically yelped. She looked to the Doctor for approval, and while the Tardis made speaking the native language unnecessary, he appreciated her effort despite the appalling accent. He grinned and nodded. "My name is Clara," Clara continued, seeing that her greeting was welcomed. "and this is my friend, the Doctor."

"A Doctor?" said the girl, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her flaxen blond hair hung limply about her, plastered with rain. They were sheltered by the trees for the most part, but the girl was soaked to the skin and wearing torn, crimson rags over a white shift.

"The Doctor," said he, quite proudly. "I am a friend of the Lord Tremaine. Is he home?"

"He's dead," said the girl all too quickly. "He's been dead these nine years. If you wish to discuss business affairs, you must see the Lady Tremaine, though she is away at the moment."

"Ah," the Doctor said cheerfully, fighting to keep the smile on his face. He sobered soon enough, grimacing. _I could just pop back to the Tardis and go back nine years, _he thought, _and try to pretend I was not here. But it is impossible to do so and ignore this poor creature._

"I am very sorry to hear that," he said.

"Is that why you are sad?" Clara asked.

"It's half of it," the girl gulped, straightening. She tried to massage the tearstains from beneath her eyes. "I'm sorry—that—I could not have let you in at the manor instead of receiving you here—no one else is home, you see."

"That's a shame," said the Doctor, "You see, if I can't speak to the Lord or Lady Tremaine, I was hoping to speak to one of the daughters."

The girl perked up a little, standing fully and self-consciously brushing mud from the skirt. "I am Lord Tremaine's daughter, Ella."

"Little Ella!" the Doctor exclaimed, jumping forward to wring her hand till he remembered what century he was in. At the last minute he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed them daintily. "You were a small child of eight years old when I last saw you."

"You know me?"

"I said I was a friend of your father's, didn't I? I came to many of his parties. I held you on my knee when you were—uh—yay high!" the Doctor measured up to his hip. "Perhaps you remember—I was there at the wedding."

"My father's marriage to the Lady Tremaine?"

"The very one!"

"I don't really recall," Ella said apologetically. "The years are a little blurry. Papa died only a year after the date, leaving behind…" she started to choke up a little. "Me. Leaving me behind."

"You poor thing," Clara declared sympathetically. "Does your step family treat you cruelly?"

"What a question!" the Doctor whispered, scolding Clara for her insensitivity with a flash in his eyes.

"Yes," Ella answered without hesitation, breaking into fresh sobs. She knelt again by the bench and buried her face back into her arms.

The Doctor instantly retracted his earlier judgment. "Oh."

Then, he looked at Clara, confused. _How'd she pick up on that? The girl could be crying for any number of reasons. _

"There, there," Clara said, sitting on the bench beside the girl's shaking shoulders. She put her hand gently on top of her head. "Why don't you tell us what's bothering you? We've made a habit of trying to fix things."

The Doctor shook his head wildly and made a cutting motion. "Of course, _interfering_ too much in your problems would prevent you from a valuable learning experience," the Doctor spoke through gritted teeth, hoping Clara would catch his hint. It would be terrible if they made the wrong move and skewed French history. "…so that when you look back on your _history _it remains unchanged from _outsiders _and shaped the way _you _want."

This only made Ella cry harder.

"Oh, shut up, Doctor," Clara whispered. "If this were the King of England I'd agree with you. But she's just a little girl. And a sad one, at that. Tell me, dear," she said this to Ella, "Is there some event going on tonight? And the rest of the Tremaines are there?"

Ella nodded tearfully, looking up again. "Yes, they are at the ball. The Royal Ball."

It suddenly clicked for the Doctor. "The Prince is giving a ball?" he suggested, trying to sound casual about it. "Of course he would be."

"Yes, a masquerade. I had a lovely dress prepared. It was an old dress that belonged to my mother—my real mother. But it was beautiful." Ella looked down at the shredded rags she wore. "I've lost the mask, I don't even know where it is."

"How'd you end up like this?" Clara asked kindly.

"I…" Ella stopped. "I really should—tell you—that if you wish to speak to the Lady Tremaine you should just come back later. I'm not supposed to talk to strangers… especially when…" she paused. "I mean, I don't want to get in trouble." She stood up suddenly, and began to flee the garden. "I'm sorry!" she called over her shoulder. "Come back later!" She disappeared through the trees.

"Well, that's that, then," said the Doctor.

"Don't you get it?" Clara exclaimed. "She's _Cinderella."_

"Don't be silly, she's Ella Tremaine, she said so herself."

"_Cinderella. _She's in rags—why? Because her stepsisters assaulted her on her way out and tore her dress to ribbons. She wanted to go to the Prince's masquerade ball. And now she can't."

"Cinderella is a fairy tale."

"So is 'the Doctor' in some places," Clara countered. "Don't tell me—in all of time and space—you've never encountered a situation in which you've provided some advanced, futuristic assistance that has been interpreted as magic and then—I don't know—passed down through the generations until it has become a beloved story?"

The Doctor _did _recall a rather unfortunate incident in which he was the basis for an English legend. His seventh regeneration was considered Merlin at the time of the real King Arthur's birth—but surely that example didn't count. He didn't want to think about _that _now. Though some adventures had happened in similar scenarios with his fourth regeneration—and the tenth—and the—_oh, bother it all._

"I suppose," he began.

"What do you think this makes us?" Clara pressed.

"Helpers?" the Doctor offered. Then he snapped his fingers. "Fairy godmothers?"

"Who else can we be? We've arrived at precisely the right moment."

The Doctor was hesitant to admit when it was all right to interfere with the natural order of things, but once it was decided that his presence itself was practically canon, he had to jump in with both feet. "Right!" he erupted. "Clara, head on up to the manor. See if you can't make little Ella let you inside. I've got to go back to the Tardis… and find her a dress."

"Doctor," said Clara sternly, "You find her the _prettiest, _most unique dress in the entire world. Something no one else will have in this era."

The Doctor grinned, and said softly, "And where am I to find a pumpkin, hm?"

"We'll come to that. Go on. We've got work to do."

…

Clara trotted out of the garden and back to the front of the house. She went to the large, dark wood door, and knocked rapidly.

"Hello?" she called. "Ella? It's Clara. I think I can get you to that ball."

There was an uncertain step on the other side of the door. It opened, but just a crack.

"I shall get in trouble," she fretted. "It's obvious I'm not allowed to go. Lady Tremaine stood by—and watched my sisters—oh, never mind. But she will punish me if I show up."

"If I may judge by the state of your clothes," Clara said, "You've already been punished by your stepsisters tearing up your dress. Can't get much worse, can it?"

The door opened wider. Ella's eyes were wide. "How did you know they did it?"

"Intuition," Clara quipped. "I bet they were jealous of how pretty you looked. And they ruined your mother's beautiful dress. But I am fairly certain I can undo the damage. Will you let me in?"

"Well—all right—but the Lady Tremaine…"

"It's a masquerade," Clara responded, "If you don't tell her I was here, she'd never know, and she won't recognize you when you show up at the ball."

Ella muttered quickly, "How can I go to the ball like this?" but she bit back the words and added, sadly, "All right, come in." She opened the door carefully.

Clara stepped inside, and instantly asked, "Where's your kitchen?"

"Right this way," Ella took the tiny candle from the windowsill by the door and led the way. Clara did not find the dark interior of the manor too spooky, but rather gothic and romantic. They went out of a large, gaping entry and through a prestigious dining hall. In the back, there was a door to the large kitchen. There was a wooden table in the center, a large fireplace with a cauldron hanging inside, and store cupboards everywhere.

There was a blanket on the hearth, dirty with cinders and ashes.

"Is that where you sleep?" Clara asked gently.

"Yes," Ella said. "When… when my father died, I was forced to become a servant. I haven't slept in my own room for nine years." But she smiled, ruefully. "But I am very strong. All right—a little strong. Strong enough to defend myself against, say, one person."

"But two catty stepsisters at once?" Clara finished.

Ella tried not to laugh. "They _do _have claws."

"Well, have a seat, Ella," Clara pushed her down on the bench seat, and took the candle to the pump over a basin. She pumped some water onto a rag, and handed it to Ella. "Wipe the dirt from your face. I'm going to do something marvelous with your hair."

She opened up her tan leather purse hanging from her shoulder down to her hip. She pulled out a tiny cluster of hairpins, a hairband, and a tube of lipstick. "And we'll see if we can't get you to the ball on time to meet the Prince himself."

Ella let out a doubtful chuckle.

…

The Doctor raided the giant closet room of the Tardis, pulling open every cupboard and bin and pulled bits and pieces of clothing out. As he became more and more frustrated with what he found, the more items he simply tossed over his shoulder till the whole room was a mess. A tie—toss! A long trenchcoat—toss! A small white hat—toss! A pair of old sneakers—toss! A poncho—no, three ponchos—toss! A long scarf—toss, toss, toss! It took three tries to get the entirety of the scarf thrown over his shoulder.

Each item had a memory and the Doctor was not in the mood to hold the clothing close, breathe in the scent of the last person who wore them, and wallow in those memories. It was best to ignore, ignore, ignore…

_Ah. Perfect. _

There was something, a shimmer of white. When he pulled out the dress and the light shone on it from various angles, iridescent rainbows seemed to shine out of it, like the inside of a seashell. He couldn't remember where he got it or how it came to be on board. Perhaps Amy had snuck it into his stash for some odd reason. It was made for someone smaller, though—his memory reaching back still further, he remembered that a dress of this size could have fit Sarah Jane, even.

"On with it, then," he said aloud, impatient with himself. Now to find a mask and some shoes. Unfortunately he was not a possessor of glass slippers.

…

Clara heard the front door creak carefully open. Pulling a hairpin out of her mouth, she cried, "In here, Doctor!"

When the Doctor arrived, he tripped over the landing and nearly fell into the kitchen, all the while trying to hold the dress up for approval.

"That's beautiful!" Clara praised.

"What is? Can I see?" Ella asked. Sitting at the bench alongside the table, she had her back to the Doctor and the long white dress.

"Not just yet," Clara replied, finishing with the last strand of hair. She put most of it up in a beautifully formal bun, and left tendrils of blond curls framing Ella's angelic face. "You look beautiful!" she said, putting a little dab of lipstick in the heart shape of Ella's lips. "Now make a kiss sound, like so, to spread the color," she instructed, smacking her lips. Ella followed her example. It was a modest, rosy pink, nothing too bright for the era.

"Alright, Doctor," Clara said, "Hand me that dress."

"A… a dress?" Ella squeaked unbelievingly. She turned quickly in her seat, watching in absolute shock as the Doctor handed Clara the dress as if it were made of glass. "But how did you get a dress? From where? There is no tailor within walking distance—no dressmaker—"

"I suppose," said the Doctor gently, "You could call it magic."

…

The Doctor paced outside the kitchen. After a few moments, he hollered, "Aren't you _finished _yet?"

"Stop worrying," Clara snapped, and Ella giggled. There was a moment of shuffling, and a whisper—_I can't reach the sash! _And Clara's reply, _That's why I'm here, silly!_

The Doctor examined a large painting hanging on the wall. It was a man in a silver ponytail sitting atop a white horse, dressed in quite a prestigious outfit and holding a sword towards a person on the ground, presumably a slave based on the chains around his ankles. The slave seemed to be begging for something, but the proud, cold smile on the face of the rider seemed to say that the ending to this story was not a happy one.

The Doctor grimaced as if he had tasted raw lemon. The Lady Tremaine was the sort that would have distasteful artwork hanging from the walls… and the Doctor knew this was not something the Lord Tremaine would have liked.

Poor Ella. Perhaps if the Doctor had whisked her away for a few spacey-wacey trips… a girl could leave France frail and sad by the death of her father and return from adventures with gumption and confidence. If only he had known.

"She's ready!" Clara said behind him.

The Doctor whirled around, arms flailing a little as a conductor might look right off a merry-go-round.

Ella's luminous brown eyes were shining, and the hair had dried into golden ringlets. The white dress hugged her upper torso with a glittering, slimming bodice, and flowed away from the waist like a real, American southern belle in a hoop skirt. The straps were thin, pleated gauze strips. There was a secondary layer over the large skirt, of glimmering gossamer with tiny sparkles of beads sewn throughout. It was as if someone patterned a galaxy into a dress, and threw a dusting of stars over the entire thing. It was breathtakingly beautiful, alien, and unlike anything and anyone.

The Doctor wondered if the Tardis had the capability to just create dresses in the bottom of his cupboards for such an occasion as this. In all his travels…

"I've never seen anyone look so beautiful!" he declared out loud. Grinning, he took up Ella's hand again and kissed it. "Every eye will be on you."

Ella smiled bashfully. "I… I don't know how to thank-you. Both of you."

"Don't thank us yet, we must still get you there," Clara said easily, with an uneasy eye at the Doctor.

"I've thought of just the thing," the Doctor pulled a strip of fabric from his pocket. "But—first, we must blindfold you."

"Doctor, is that necessary?" Clara whispered in his ear.

"We've interfered enough," the Doctor hissed back, "Have you ever read a Cinderella story where the godmothers take her up in a space ship?"

"Well, er, no."

"Introduce time-travel and space-travel to the _classic, universal _and _incredibly famous _Cinderella story, and we'll ruin the history of Earth somehow. Trust me."

"All right, if you insist… Ella, we've got to keep our magic coach a secret. So we're going to blindfold you."

"I don't even care, I'm just so happy," Ella sighed.

The Doctor and Clara shrugged at each other before leading her outside of the Tremaine manor. It had finally stopped raining.

They tied the fabric around her eyes, and led her down the steps towards the Tardis, where she waited in the mud with her blue paint job and watchful windows.

"Have you got any pumpkins?" Clara asked.

"There are some growing in the garden," Ella answered, confused.

"Perfect! I'm going to take the biggest one and enchant it into a coach," the Doctor was trying not to enjoy himself too much. "Woo-lah! The Pumpkin is now a coach!"

"Oh look, mice!" Clara contributed, smiling wildly. "I shall enchant them into horses and a coachman! How do you do, sir mouse?"

"Very well, thank-you," said the Doctor, trying to make his voice sound high and squeaky. It wasn't entirely a failure.

"I _wish _I could see it," Ella sighed. "I suppose you don't let many people see your magic, though."

"Only when you're wearing it," Clara teased.

Ella heard the creak of the Tardis doors. "Your coach door needs a bit of oiling," she giggled. They led her inside, and Clara waited with her by the door. The Doctor set the coordinates for the palace, approximately a half hour ago, so that little Ella would have plenty of time to dance the night away. The Tardis clearly wanted Ella to succeed as much as Clara and the Doctor did—when she whirred, and clunked, and shuddered with a hydraulic roar and landed—he saw on the screen that she got the coordinates down _perfectly. _

"Well, done, girl," the Doctor kissed the console fondly and pulled a lever. The lever made a cranking sound, and with a thud, the Tardis was settled.

Clara opened the doors, and they were greeted with a flood of torchlight and orchestral music playing a lively dance into the starry night.

They were just inside the palace walls, hidden among the hedges. The Doctor and Clara each took one of Ella's hands and led her out, past the bushes, and onto the gravel path, so that she would not be able to see the Tardis from where she stood.

The sandy colored walk led a straight line, through the expansive palace gardens and towards the giant pillars on either side of the front door. The palace looked so tall, and long, that walking around it would probably take a whole day. It was glowing gold and orange with so many lights coming from the windows and from the torches that lined the pathway.

"It's breathtaking, I can _feel _it," Ella said.

Clara gave the Doctor a happy look, and then removed the blindfold. "Here you are," she said, happily.

Ella's mouth dropped open. "Oh—oh my—it's—it really worked. We're here. I've only ever seen it from the gate—way back there—you've taken me right to it! In a matter of seconds! That cannot be possible—it's just too perfect. Is there a catch?" she whirled towards them. "Please, if there is some sort of sacrifice, or penance—I don't know what I can give something so magical."

"Just be back by midnight, so that we can get you home before your stepmother and stepsisters return, the pumpkin's enchantment cannot last all night," the Doctor smiled. "We'll be here waiting for you."

"That's the only catch?" Ella exclaimed, overcome. She wrapped her arms around Clara and hugged her fiercely. Then she turned to the Doctor and hugged him just as much. "Of course—of _course _I'll be back by midnight. You have my word!"

"One last thing," the Doctor dug into his front pocket, and pulled out a black masquerade mask. It was ebony silk, and sprinkled with tiny sparkles like the night sky above them. "There's those… and these…" he dug still further in his pocket, and pulled out a pair of small, black ballet slippers. Not the professional kind, but the sort you'd find in any old store for beginners. They were yet another mysterious item that did not seem to come with an origin story, but they were the only ones he could find under short notice. He handed them over to Ella as if they'd burst into flames unless he did so.

Ella was so flummoxed that Clara wondered if she'd simply tip over and resign herself to some sort of wonder-coma. "How, how?" she stuttered.

"Fairy godmother capabilities," she said quickly, "Our pockets are bigger on the inside than the outside. Infinite space for all sorts of things."

"Of course, how else could they fit?" Ella laughed with delight as she slipped the mask around her head, adjusting the curls accordingly. She pulled her feet out of her damp, sage colored shoes and slipped on the ballet slippers. They were a size too big, but decent enough. "They are so soft!"

"They are made of glass," Clara explained. The Doctor liked her impeccable timing. If they were the perpetuators of this classic fairy tale, they were going to do it _right. _"Part of the enchantment—don't worry, they won't crack. They appear like they're made of fabric and such."

With a black, starry mask, black shoes, and a brilliantly white and shimmering dress, Ella made the most striking figure. As if an angel from Heaven had clothed herself with the essence of a song played on a piano.

"This is all too much for me," Ella looked at the Doctor. "Why are you doing this?"

The Doctor smiled sadly, and brushed a happy tear from her cheek. "This is my way of begging your forgiveness," he said, and even Clara was surprised.

"I did not know your father passed away. I did not know that you would be mistreated and abused for the next ten years. If only I could change that—you could have come traveling with me, if you liked, and skipped all this."

Ella took a deep breath. "It has been hard. But I do not regret what I've become. I've learned to take care of myself, and the whole of the manor, too. I'm usually quite strong and confident, you know—when you found me in the garden, I had finally broken up. I felt like I hit the end… I'd been so alone for so long, only to have one of my dreams shattered right in front of me. It was too much. But, overall, I wouldn't trade it—even though at times I wish my life had ended with my father's. In those days, when I was that little child you held—I was selfish, spoilt, and my every whim was indulged. Had I continued in such a way, I would have ended up like my stepsisters—cruel, self-centered, and unhappy. But now I am the stronger one. I feel like… my pains, and my hard work, it has been rewarded tonight. I knew, and I prayed, that it would be."

"Can you forgive me?" the Doctor asked. "I should have kept in touch, anyhow."

Ella nodded. "Of course I forgive you. But it wasn't your fault; this is life. There are terrible turns and there are glorious days. I cannot have one without the other."

There was a pause, deepened with reflection and the realization of a life worth living. She had been at her lowest depression when her stepsisters ganged up on her… and now, she soared to the highest of heights.

"Don't know about you," Clara broke the silence when it was ready to be broken, "But I think there is a Prince inside waiting to meet the most beautiful girl in France."

I'll—I'll see you soon," Ella promised, bouncing a little with giddiness. She turned and began to walk slowly down the path, her slippered feet making polite crunching sounds on the gravel.

As soon as she was out of earshot, the Doctor and Clara turned towards each other, eyes wide.

Clara squealed, and the Doctor shouted, "AHAH!" and they leapt into eachother's arms for a violent hug.

"We did it!" Clara said.

"We did!" the Doctor chortled. They cackled together like a pair of elves waiting for a shoemaker to fall asleep. "Come on! Before the stroke of twelve and the spell is broken!" the Doctor clutched Clara's hand and they ran like mad for the Tardis again.

Once inside, new coordinates were given—same place, same _exact _night and year, only just before the bells chimed at midnight.

The night sky was darker and the stars were brighter when they disembarked. The torches had burned down some, and the music coming from the palace had calmed into a warm, ethereal waltz. Some guests stumbled through the gardens, giggling and drunk. When they spotted the Tardis in the distance, they backed away slowly and returned to well-lit areas where there weren't creepy blue boxes stacked around.

"Think she'll be late?" Clara asked.

"Even if she is, we'll get her home before her stepsisters," the Doctor smirked. "I've already planned that one out. We'll return her a few minutes after we left—nine o'clock or so. That way she has plenty of time to change and hide the gown before they're home."

"If we could return her any time, why only give her till midnight?" Clara asked.

"Because it's in the _story,"_ the Doctor said.

The clock chimed twelve. _Dnnng. Dnnnnnng. Dnnng. _

"So were pumpkins and mice. Look at us and your blue box. Do we look like pumpkins and mice?"

_Dnnng. Dnnnnnng. Dnnng._

"Some things, I think, are better left unchanged." The Doctor sighed. "Say that I told her to stay out for as long as she wanted and she returned at 2 a.m. What if her stepsisters caught her walking out? What if someone steps on her dress and rips it at 1 a.m.? What if, at 1:30 a.m., the King goes into a drunken rage and takes it out on the nearest maiden?"

_Dnnng. Dnnnnnng. Dnnng._

"Too many what-ifs," Clara disagreed. "I do not operate on _what if, _only what I can and cannot do."

_Dnnng. Dnnnnnng. Dnnng._

"I'm a Timelord, I _have _to think about the what-ifs."

There was a sound of footsteps interrupting their discussion, moving at a quick pace. Ella came running down the pathway, breathless and tearful, though there was an exhausted smile on her face.

"I came… as quickly… as I could…" she panted, bending over and resting her hands on her knees to catch her breath. "As soon as I noticed it was almost midnight—I broke away—hardly gave him any time for a goodbye. I don't even recall if we introduced ourselves!"

"We?" Clara asked, beaming.

"Oh me, and—well, I think he was The Prince," Ella laughed. "There was a lot of bowing—and dancing—oh, dancing. I danced with him from the moment I stepped inside to the moment I ran. And we talked… we talked the whole time! We told each other so much about one another, it's like we couldn't get enough."

"Quick, Ella," said the Doctor, noticing a commotion by the palace doors. "Into your blindfold, now! The pumpkin's enchantment is weakening!"

Ella was nearly distracted by a group of people assembling quite a distance away.

"Is this Prince—uh—chasing you?" asked Clara nervously.

Ella held still as the Doctor tied his blindfold. "I'm afraid he might be. But if he were to follow me, he might give me away to my stepmother—if he does that, I'll be beaten when they return for certain. We'd best be on our way quickly."

The Doctor and Clara shared a look of remorse. They led her into the Tardis, and this time, the Doctor took his time plugging in all the correct coordinates and fondly resting his hand on the rail around the console of the Tardis.

"Take Cinderella home," he whispered to her, pressing several buttons and shifting gears. The Tardis churned to life.

_WOOOOFSHT. WOOOOOFSHT. WOOOOOFSHT. _

"Oh my," Ella laughed.

"That is the sound of a pumpkin losing its carriage disguise," laughed the Doctor. "We made it _just _in time." The Tardis thumped and landed, and the Doctor smacked a lever and trotted down to the ladies.

As soon as the doors were opened and Ella stepped into the wet grass, she squeaked. "Oh! Oh dear."

"What is it?" Clara asked.

"I am missing one of my glass slippers." Ella sighed. "I guess… I guess I'll never find it. That _is _too bad. It must have fallen off when I ran."

Clara declared, "They'll turn up again."

"Of course," the Doctor agreed, "Watch your step—up the stairs we go—all right. Here's the front door. We'll take off that blindfold now."

Ella blinked. The moonlight had come out not minutes after leaving in the Tardis initially, and now it was at its fullest.

"Why, it almost looks as if it's only nine-thirty or so," she mused. "Isn't that when we left?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," said the Doctor, "If you had several hours to hide your dress and mask, wash your face and hair, and curl up beside the fire again… in fact, you could be sound asleep by the time they are home."

"They'll be home any second!"

"Unless it really is nine thirty or earlier, as you suggested."

"But how could that be? I danced with… with him… for hours."

"Time flies when one is in love," Clara suggested, beaming. "And I wouldn't be surprised if the Prince was in love with you, too."

"How can I thank-you both for tonight?" Ella sighed with contentment, though she had a suspicious glint in her eye. "How can I thank-you for the entire evening—even these early hours, which I _know _I spent dancing already?"

"Don't bother," the Doctor laughed, pulling her into a hug. "If you want to thank me," he whispered for her ears only, "Say you'll forgive me."

"I forgive you," she answered readily. "Now promise you won't blame yourself for my _life. _I've worked hard to live through it, and that is worth something."

"Of course I will," the Doctor nodded, pulled back, and then kissed her forehead soundly. "It isn't too late, you know. If you want to come along for… for a trip."

"Doctor," whispered Clara, "What about your warning? About changing the story with the addition of space and time?"

Ella agreed instantly with Clara. "She's right, Doctor. I don't want to change my story. I want to go on—with the memories of tonight. They will fuel my confidence and strength for years to come, I'm sure of it."

"I hope so," the Doctor knew Clara was right. He himself could be such a hypocrite whenever Guilt found the unlocked door nearest to his heart. "This is goodbye, then, Ella."

"Goodbye, Doctor. Thank-you for everything." Ella and Clara embraced tightly. "And thank-you for… appearing out of nowhere. I didn't think fairy godmothers existed, but now? Oh, my belief in magic—God—the universe—all of it is restored. I will never lose faith again. God bless you, both. I know he sent both of you to me."

Clara smiled down at her. "Who's to say he didn't send _you _to us?"

…

When the door finally shut, the Doctor and Clara linked arms and tiredly walked together back to the Tardis. The Tardis seemed to be in a good mood, too, all whirly twirly sounds came from her engines and the greenish blue lights dazzling in ways they usually didn't. She seemed to sparkle from the inside out.

"Think she'll live happily ever after?" the Doctor asked, still pushing the guilt away, wishing for the unwelcome guest to see himself out.

"Why don't we find out?" Clara suggested mischievously.

With a shout and clatter, the Doctor made the time adjustments and began his usual ramble about how much he loved _this _sound or liked Clara's _brilliant suggestions _or how he felt so _amazing _and _blimey _he hasn't felt quite this way in a long time.

"What do you mean?" Clara interrupted his running monologues. "Why not?"

The Doctor paused, caught in his vulnerability. "It has been awhile," he explained, softly, "Since I haven't felt _toxic _to whatever era I've shown up in. We've done some good, here, Clara. For once… nothing went wrong. I didn't ruin... you know. It has been a long time since I've felt the joy of not ruining anyone. Of course…" the Tardis dropped back to earth with a crash and a roar like the wind through a machine. "There is still the future to look into."

"Take heart, Doctor," Clara took his hand, and squeezed his fingers. "You're not toxic. You've saved people—sometimes civilizations, by talking down a giant exploding star—and sometimes, just the heart of a little girl in need of the right push to accomplish her dreams. You're not toxic." She paused. _Easy, Clara. Your heart needs a little protecting, too. _"You're wonderful. Don't you know that?" she adopted her regular, teasing tone. "I can't tell you that every day, you'll get a big head."

The Doctor squeezed her hand back, overjoyed. He pulled her towards the Tardis doors. "I could stand to hear it a few more times," he joked, opening them wide.

The music and sunlight blazed throughout the palace gardens.

A loose piece of paper floated by on a breeze, and Clara reached out and caught it.

_Invitation _read the beautiful, calligraphy scrawl on the outside.

The Doctor hovered over her shoulder as she opened it, and both reading the inside. They squealed simultaneously.

They had arrived just in time for the royal wedding.

_**Ella was about to live happily ever after.**_

* * *

_**The end**_


End file.
